The Gate is Narrow That Leads to Life
by Stuffed Hippo
Summary: Have you ever wondered what Gemma's Grandma's life was like? Her childhood, and how she felt about watching her family fall apart? Why did she end up so bitter? Please Review!


**This is my first fanfiction ever. So I'm not sure if I'm good at it yet...**

**Disclaimer: Libba Bray is the genius who owns the characters. I just am borrowing them!! **

It is my birthday. I am sixteen, and I have never been so lonely as I am now.

I cannot lie. Everyone is making an effort to be extra kind to me today. A group of girls, whom had been my closest friends just a few short months ago, brought me a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers in the gardens, and my roommate, Eugenia, presented me with a darling handkerchief embroidered with playful kittens and the kind words of, "Happy Birthday, Lenora." She had stitched it herself, which I suppose counts for something. Although I despise kittens.

All of their fawning over me does not excuse the fact that they have been excluding me for months now. And, even today, with the constant attention, we are still not the close knit friends we once were.

We do not joke, or talk of serious things, but silly frivolous things, such as parties and dresses. It is excruciating, and I almost wish that they would leave me out again. Yet, I sense that this is just as painful for them, and that they would rather ignore me, to talk of their more exciting secrets. Secrets of which I am not privy to.

Eugenia's abandonment hurts most of all, as she and I were best friends. She was the first in the long series of girls whom left me. It has been almost a year since that day, since Eugenia's sixteenth birthday, almost a full year ahead of mine.

Once we were as thick as thieves, she and I. I was the free spirit, the balloon that longed to fly away, and she was the anchor that held me down. Lately, I've been thinking that if I don't find a replacement anchor soon, I shall soar away without a second thought. Create a scandalous image of myself.

Perhaps Eugenia would realize that she was the reason that I went bad, and beg for my forgiveness. More likely, she will be so wrapped in her secretive little world, a world that does not include me, might I add, and she will not even notice as my reputation tarnishes. Maybe one day, I shall become the subject of her cruel gossip, or more likely, the stick behind the donkey which she uses to rear her children in the right direction.

I can hear her now, "Oh, Elizabeth, darling, you must be virtuous and ladylike at all times. You, don't want to end up like that Ashford girl, do you? What was her name again. Lydia? Lucy? Something like that, I believe."

I grimace at the thought, but most likely, I shall never know what she says, as she will not allow me to listen to her gossip anymore.

The fake friendliness of the girls is resulting in fake-friendly replies, which leave a bitter taste on my tongue. I try to excuse myself to the gardens for some "fresh air", and they all nod with relief. But then one simple schoolgirl, Frances, with hair the color of coal and eyes as dull as a smooth stones at the bottom of a stream, assures me that the girls shall accompany me to the garden. The disappointed girls, as well as I, are left with no choice, lest we seem ill-mannered. I have a feeling that Frances shall wake up with her coal colored hair gone tomorrow.

There is no peace as I walk through the gardens, forced to listen to consistent chatter. I fear I shall die if I do not find some peace soon. This is turning out to be the absolute most horrid day of my life.

We sit down among the flowers, and I bring the fragrant violet blossoms to my nose, in an effort to drown the girls out. The smell is of my garden at home. The feeling of love with a slight undertone of freedom. And childhood.

I miss those days, when I could honestly say I didn't need people. Those were the days when dreams were children's best friends. As we get older, our dreams fade, and people are needed to fill the emptiness. First friends, then lovers, then children of our own. And so the cycle continues.

My emptiness is not filled by anyone, and I am left with a gaping hole in my being. No doubt, at the rate I'm going, I will never find a suitable husband or have children either. I'll end life as a hollow spinster.

Lovely.

It takes me a few moments to realize that the relentless chatter has ceased, so lost am I in my thoughts of ever enduring loneliness. But when I look up, I see the girls, somberly avoiding meeting their eyes with something.

I observe the girls faces, trying to guess what they are looking at. Anticipation is far better that the actual event, with this lot. In these few seconds before I discover the truth, there could be anything in front of me. A ghost, or a sprite, or a handsome knight with golden hair, riding his majestic horse, and towing a snowy white one for me.

My eyes travel upwards, and I see them.

A group of gypsies are wondering through the gardens, speaking in coarse languages that I cannot begin to understand. Their skin colors are so very peculiar, varying from colors lighter than mine, to shades as dark as the rich earth beneath my feet. They avoid the girls eyes as much as the girls avoid theirs, proper ladies that they are. But unlike the girls, the men sneak peaks at us from under their eyelids, their mouths falling slightly, in awe.

It is then I realize that one of the men, a man with the darkest skin I have ever seen, is staring intently towards us with no humility. I follow his gaze, until my own eyes fall upon Eugenia, who is staring back at him, coldly. They nod and blink in a silent communication of sorts.

I'm in complete and utter shock.

This is unbelievably scandalous. Perfectly proper, Eugenia Spence, practically an angel, so virtuous is she. Miss Spence, the ideal young lady, has some sort of relationship with a heathen.

And I cannot imagine it is an innocent one. They are most likely lovers. That would explain the adoring, almost worshiping look in his eyes. For one devilishly delicious second, the thought of exposing her "acquaintance" with the man, runs through my head. But I banish the thought swiftly. True, she had abandoned me, and led the other girls like blind sheep, away from my side. But I am not cruel enough to endanger her reputation, no matter how scintillating a thought it is.

I wonder how Eugenia has changed so much since our delicate friendship fell apart. She once had scolded me for simply commenting on the fact that our lives were forced upon us, and did we not have feelings as men did?

She had responded with a sour, "Well, that is how life is, is it not? Try to be more proper, dear Lenora."

Now, she is breaking the rules of society, far more thoroughly then I have ever dreamed of doing.

No. I'm letting my imagination run away again. There is no proof that she is doing anything scandalous, or out of the ordinary in any way. Most likely, the only contact she and the man had ever had was when she donated a generous sum to him, in hopes he could improve his life. And he was grateful, which is why he looked upon her with such emotion. And she, embarrassed, looked back stonily, wondering why he thought so highly of her when she had only done as any decent Christian would do.

I snort with laughter. The first story was far more interesting to think about.

The girls are becoming overwhelmed by the amount of fresh air available to their fragile lungs, and the gypsy men are now out of sight, so there is nothing interesting to watch. Their whining is, perhaps, even more irritating than their ridiculous chatter. I concede to agree, halfheartedly, to return inside. How can I possibly shake these irksome pests?

We start back for the doors that lead back to our stifling school. I count the paces in order to distract myself. One. Two. Three. Four. Fi-

Eugenia sidles up to me, interrupting me mid-thought. Her sandy-colored hair is still neatly in place, despite the breeze. I run my fingers through my own dark colored ringlets self-conscious of the fact that they had escaped from my bun. How was it that Eugenia always was so flawless. She looks calm and gentle, as a lady should. I'm sure my pale blue eyes are wild looking, my cheeks flushed pink.

Dear Saint Eugenia opens her mouth to spew out her sickening kindness. "Lenora, darling, you look quite peaked." I narrow my eyes at her, and she looks away as though my glare might burn her. I loathe her, for she can make an insult sound as though she is looking only for your welfare.

"I am quite tired!" I retort, more harshly then I mean to. She flinches at my tone, but I continue. "Perhaps I shall retire to our room, for a quick nap."

She nods, thankful. No doubt, this is an ingenious plot to get rid of me. She pretends she is worried for my welfare, when in fact she is worried about her suffering gossip, which she will not speak in my presence. However I shall not lose this chance to escape.

"Yes, you mustn't overexert yourself for our sakes" she smiles sweetly, "It is _your_ birthday, after all."

"Please inform the others that I am terribly sorry to leave their company. I shall only be gone for a short while," I assure her. She promises that she will keep them from being insulted, and I swiftly slip away. Just leaving, I overhear her speaking what was supposed to be an explanation, to the other girls.

"I do hate being so distant from her. Still it is for the best. And it shall only be for a small while longer…" I am out of hearing zone now, and I rush to my room in order to keep from eavesdropping further.

I collapse on my bed, sighing in relief and gratitude. To have silence, if only for a moment, is enough to make me believe that there is a god.

And I truly am tired, as well. Perhaps a nap is for the best. If I am lucky, maybe I shall discover that I have recovered my ability to dream. That would fill my emptiness, as it did in childhood. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel as though I would suffer from my lack of people. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel the sadness that would sometimes tear me into pieces.

What a fine birthday gift that would be.

**So, one chapter down, a million more to go. I promise, this story gets more interesting than a girl complaining that no one likes her. Thank you for reading so far!!**

**I am not updating unless I get at least... 3 reviews (I'll go easy, because this is only the first chapter) **

**Love You All,**

**Stuffed Hippo **


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